


Headcanons, In Reverse

by solitaryjane



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 007 Fest, Agent!Q, Alternate Universe, Headcanon, M/M, Trope Subversion, quartermaster!Bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2020-10-21 12:10:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20693303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitaryjane/pseuds/solitaryjane
Summary: A series of connected headcanons where the roles and tropes are reversed. Q is the agent. Bond is the quartermaster. Moneypenny is Bond's best mate. Tanner takes care of Q like an older sibling. R is a shy, quiet man who knows computers and M, well, M is just M, doing the best he can. And the rest shall follow.





	1. Of Agent!Q and Quartermaster!B

Q was the youngest to pass the evals for an elite agent at Six. Contrary to rumors he was neither a criminal mastermind being offered a chance at redemption nor a genius who completed PhDs in his teens. He was a hacker, dabbled in cryptocurrency at its height and got himself quite a tidy sum post-university, and decided to apply to Six on a whim. It took a few tries, but Q was a damn stubborn bastard who didn’t know what it meant to quit. He got recruited as an agent at age 25 and made double-oh a year later, narrowly beating out 004 as the youngest one to date.

Technically his call sign was 0010, but no one, not even M, referred to him as such. His birth name had long been redacted from history, and now the letter ‘Q’ appeared on his decoy and official documents alike. He preferred patterned suits, neon shirts, and glasses during missions even though he had perfect vision. It made the hipster/nerd look more convincing, not to mention the various surveillance capabilities from a pair modded with cameras. On his downtime he liked to hack Six’s servers for fun, which lead to M assigning him more and more long-term undercover stints. These were right up his alley so it worked out. There was just something about playing with people’s minds that really got Q going, and nothing was more satisfying than a quick, clean assassination to wrap up loose ends.

He kept a custom butterfly knife on his person at all times, save when he was sleeping. Then it either went under the pillow or behind the bed-frame, depending on where and who he was with at the time.

* * *

James Bond was not the first choice to succeed Six’s Quartermaster. He wasn’t even the second or third choice, according to insiders, so when Major Boothroyd stepped down and left him the reigns there were some not-so-flattering speculations. Bond handled it the way he usually did when no explosives were involved, and that was to ignore it all. He and Boothroyd shared the same initial, so he kept the moniker of Quartermaster B, and took the job on the week he turned the ripe old age of 41.

Q-branch expected Bond to be effective but unremarkable. He was comfortably middle-aged, wore slacks and sweaters in muted colors, and kept meticulous notes in a neat schooled print. He knew his way around a computer but couldn’t keep up with social media. Newspapers were delivered to his office every morning, and the only mess on his desk was a smattering of pens. Rumor had it some of those were rigged with explosives, which Bond had neither confirmed nor denied on any occasion.

Therefore, it was to everyone’s (except possibly Boothroyd’s) surprise when ingenious weaponry began to appear regularly in the agents’ hands. Untraceable trackers, palm-print-coded guns, a deadly virus and a bomb combined in a tiny keychain USB. Double-ohs flocked to Q-branch after missions, hoping to catch a glimpse of the next big thing in the works. Q-branch, on the other hand, took on an earnest interest in Bond himself. His personal life was as elusive as some of the agents, except Bond never hinted at or humble-bragged about his exploits. He came in at 8 in the morning and left at 8 in the evening like clockwork, barring a mission gone awry (often) or emergent international crisis (depressingly just as often). Then he stayed as long as he was needed, the only difference was the splash of whiskey added to his cup of coffee, and the appearance of a shaving kit and a straight razor in his personal locker.


	2. Of M and T

Eve Moneypenny never cared much for the double-ohs. Being almost made one herself, she was only too aware of the kind of people the job attracted. After a disastrous mission originally intended as a test to fill 008’s position, Moneypenny swore off field duty and retreated to the managerial pool, promptly becoming M’s personal secretary and the most feared gossip and organizer in the administrative wing.

She took a liking to the new Quartermaster immediately. Bond and her shared the same morbid sense of humor, similar taste in posh evening wear (gold’s her color while blue was his, a bit cliché, but complementary nonetheless), and a mutual dislike of unpredictable agents and overwhelming paperwork. They flirted like old lovers but never went beyond a New Year’s Eve kiss on the cheek (to much of the office betting pool’s dismay). Once in a while they’d go out for a pint after a strenuous day at work. She knew he liked his martini shaken and he knew she liked her beer dry. Sometimes a few others joined them. Lately, however, it had almost always included the notorious 0010.

It wasn’t that she disliked Q. He was handsome and eccentric, a beast in the field, and his skills with tech had the majority of Q-branch utterly besotted. Eve could acknowledge someone’s strengths when she saw them. Unfortunately as suave as he was during missions he was hopelessly transparent when it came to their Quartermaster. It didn’t help that Bond kept turning down the advances in the most obtuse way possible, which only made the situation even more stupid.

“At this point, James,” she said to him during lunch one day, “it’s probably best if you just sleep with him once and get it over with. Save us all the dramatics.”

“Eve, I really don’t think that’s going to solve anything. Not to mention it’s utterly unprofessional.”

“Since when do you care about being professional?” she gave him the side eye. “Wasn’t it Amelia from Accounting I saw with you last –”

“Shhh, not so loud,” Bond held up a finger. “For the record, it was just dinner, and she’s on the budget committee.”

“…Wow, James, for shame. She’s a perfectly nice girl, you know; adopted a brand new kitten last week, I was told. Just be glad Tanner’s not anywhere around to hear this.”

“Believe me,” Bond sighed. “I am well aware.”

* * *

Bill Tanner became the Chief of Staff the same day the previous M was instated. She handpicked him herself, citing his extraordinary delegation skills along with an unmatched ability of keeping cool under pressure. No one expected the admin staff to go through as many bombings and security breaches and once, a poisonous gas leak, as the ones at Six did. When she retired and the current M took over Tanner had his new boss’s agenda ready and cross-referenced by 8 am the first day. Mallory was without a secretary at the time, juggling all of the inner workings of Six along with liaisons with Five and the CIA. Tanner earned a significant bonus that year, but he only celebrated in the strictest sense possible, which was to spend a deserved vacation with his wife and two young daughters in the countryside.

Dealing with the higher-ups, however, was child’s play compared to wrangling the horde of double-ohs. He watched many come and go, some lost on the job while others dropped off the grid on their own volition. The rest decided to live life to the fullest while they still could. Understandable, but they were Tanner (and Accounting)’s biggest headaches. It only got worse when Q-branch instated a new Quartermaster, who supplied all kinds of fancy new toys while being extremely easy on the eyes, and drew in the lot like fresh catnip.

Tanner was the one who forwarded Q’s resume to M with a recommendation. He genuinely liked the kid, thought he was brilliant and capable, if a bit manic. During an emergency lockdown he and Q were trapped in the same room for six hours and became friends afterwards. Q took on a habit of crashing at Tanner’s when he came back from a mission, citing his own place as uninhabitable when Tanner knew he just didn’t want to be alone. In return Tanner had one of the most secure flats among Six personnel, barring perhaps Bond’s. It gave him a tremendous peace of mind knowing his family was as safe as they could be.

Which was why he was a bit irked when Q inexplicably ditched his guaranteed haven post-mission, and tried to break into Bond’s flat but kept getting kicked out instead.

“You need to stop doing this,” he said to Q when the agent showed up again looking like a dejected rat. “Bond’s straight. And in charge of your equipment. He could make your life very difficult.”

“I know, I know,” Q slumped down on the sofa. “God, I really hope the straight part isn’t true. Not because of my own efforts, mind you, but it would be a total shame if a body that fine is reserved for only half of the population.”

“…I did _not_ just hear that from an agent of mine about his _quartermaster_, for crying out loud, Q.”

“Bill, if you think that’s objectionable, you should’ve heard what Ed and Bri said about him in the lounge that other day. It –”

Q was cut off by a towel flying at his face. “Stop talking and go wash up,” Tanner ordered. “I’ll heat you up some leftovers and there’s a suture kit in the hallway closet. Whatever you do, don’t wake the kids.”


	3. Of R and the other M

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note: Olivia Mansfield survives Skyfall in this universe. She later retires and Gareth Mallory is her successor.

R’s real name was redacted when he took part in a witness protection program right out of university. He came to Six after talking to one of his security details on the case, and afterwards got into the relatively quiet part of Q-branch in infrastructure maintenance. He was a diligent coder in his 30s, lived with two fellow Sixers (in legal and HR, both thoroughly vetted), and preferred the afternoon and night shifts at Q-branch. It gave him the peace and quiet he needed to work, plus also nicely offset Bond’s own schedule, so it all worked out very well.

R was one of the handful of Q-branch staff who was neither shocked nor angry with Boothroyd’s decision, even though the title of Quartermaster should’ve actually gone to _him_. He had seen Bond’s work, respected it greatly, and had no desire to be in the limelight. Instead of smuggling in cigars for Boothroyd he now snuck in whiskey for Bond, and in exchange he not only got to keep his corner desk through departmental restructuring but also got first dibs on any new tech coming from the labs. Not becoming quartermaster was like dodging a bullet, really. Hell, he could’ve unwittingly become the object of desire for all the double-ohs right now. The thought alone was enough to make him want to retreat to the deepest part of the server room and never emerge.

He didn’t know how Bond did it. Fending off all the wily assassins with aplomb and professionalism while simultaneously dealing with the rabble that was Q-branch on top of the natural stress that came with the job title. The man got chops, that was for sure, and R wouldn’t mind picking up his people skills via osmosis. Bond had other ideas, however. “Don’t delve into the politics,” he told R. “Your job is to keep us running smoothly while my job is to keep distractions from reaching you.”

“It’s just servers, sir,” R replied. “They practically run themselves.”

“Until someone decides to mess with them. How long has it been since you fended off the last attack?”

R glanced at his watch. Bond had a point. “42 minutes, sir.”

Bond’s answer was a raised eyebrow and a gesture of ‘see?’ with spread hands. R’s gaze fell to the floor, acutely aware of those sharp blue eyes on his face. “Keep up the good work,” Bond said, giving him an encouraging smile. R mumbled back a thanks. His face had now turned a very telling shade of pink, which Bond tactfully ignored as he returned his attention to the stack of blueprints on the table.

Alright, so maybe R also had the tiniest bit of crush on the Quartermaster. No one needed to know this, of course, and he certainly wouldn’t let it interfere with his job. He went straight back to reinforcing Six’s defenses. Someone he couldn’t possibly let down was depending on him, after all.

* * *

Gareth Mallory became M right after Olivia Mansfield’s unfortunate stint in Scotland concluded. He knew it was coming, predicted it the minute Mansfield planted her imperturbable self back on English soil. But he did not expect the speed everything took, and was almost blindsided when the promotion letter was deposited on his desk at JIC merely a day later. However, Mallory was anything if perpetually prepared. He cut swiftly through the bureaucracy, moved his office in record time, and took on the name of M as if he was always meant to be.

He expected the slew of structural changes that came with Six’s resettlement. Rebuilding Q-branch was a given, as were transitioning in the new section heads and replacing double-ohs lost in the skirmish. He gave 0010 some extra time off as his contribution was the greatest during the Skyfall incident, and immediately regretted the decision when Q took down two-thirds of Six’s firewalls for ‘fun’ three days into his leave. After that M revoked all of Q’s privileges whenever he had downtime longer than a weekend. It didn’t really help much, but it did slow him down enough for Q-branch to come up with reliable countermeasures. M rolled with it. All double-oh agents had their prickly sides. If certain ones were more unruly than others, why that only meant more red tapes needed to be implemented, and he had more than enough of those at his disposal.

It didn’t occur to him that this was Q’s way of trying to get attention from a certain bespectacled gentleman down in the basement. M had expected the best and brightest of British intelligence to behave like adults, and leave the pigtail-pulling on the grade-school playgrounds where they belonged. His mistake. 

“I was under the impression that hacking the servers was something Q always did, starting with my predecessor,” he said to Moneypenny one hectic morning.

“Yes, sir,” she nodded solemnly. “However, he had never been this…enthusiastic. It used to be more like testing for weaknesses rather than an all-out focused attack.”

“He does realize that it’s R who’s dealing with the breaches and not Bond himself?”

“Well, the Quartermaster still had to oversee the processes. Some of the time. I think the point is to get his attention however he can. Sir.”

M sighed. They really were goddamn children. “Anything else of note, Ms. Moneypenny? I’d like to be informed of all dalliances before I go make a speech about proper work conduct to our new recruits.”

“No sir. Not today at least.”

“Good,” M said, marginally relieved. He then dismissed his secretary with a wave and turned toward the door. Being the director of anything meant people management, and people tend to make the already complicated situation infinitely worse. It was unavoidable, but that’s alright. M knew what he was getting into when he started the job. There was no point dwelling on it now.


End file.
